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Title: For the Love of BooksPairing: Harry/GinnyCandy Heart used: BooksRating/warnings: 3rd-5th years; strong profanityAuthor's note: This is pure fluff. Oops! But I hope you still enjoy this, Pooja

It was a hot summer’s day, the bright yellow sunlight pouring in through the nearest window and lighting up the dust that hung in the air. In her search of a Transfiguration textbook on a bookshelf at her knee, Ginny had to blow the dust off the cover just to see if she had the right title and was rewarded with a faceful of dust.

Spluttering and coughing in the most undignified way possible, Ginny cursed under her breath, wishing her stupid OWL exams could just finish now instead of drag on for so long. It was as if the gorgeous weather was taking the p*ss, because of course, she certainly didn’t want to be studying when she could be spending time with Harry in a cosy corner of the grounds.

She smiled to herself, despite the dust still in her nostrils and the oppressive heat of the library, despite the fact that she had exams in less than a fortnight and she was no closer to knowing Cheering Charms as she had been weeks before. She at least had the prospect of seeing Harry later to look forward to. Though they’d been together only a few weeks, she couldn’t remember feeling happier — getting Dean out of her hair and then Harry. In a way, she still wasn’t sure exactly how it had happened, but even she couldn’t begrudge Hermione when she told Ginny “I told you so” several times; after all, Hermione had been right. Harry did have feelings for her.

They’d agreed to meet later. Harry had had detention with Snape, as he had every Saturday, and Hermione had practically frogmarched Ginny to the library first thing that morning, even providing Ginny with a stack of her old Charms notes. Ginny wasn’t sure she wanted to see him in the state she was in, though; having become progressively more aggravated as she attempted to understand Hermione’s complicated notes, Ginny knew her hair was tangled and that she didn’t exactly smell particularly pleasant given how hot it was.

Finally, once she located the correct textbook, Ginny made her way back to her table. The sight of so many books and pieces of parchment made her feel ill, and she wasn’t quite sure how she managed to sit down and pull a random scroll of parchment towards her, but the words immediately started swimming on the page. She closed her eyes, the end of her quill in her mouth, and tried again, but it was no use.

“Maybe it’s time you call it a day?”

Ginny nearly jumped out of her skin, sending her notes fluttering to the floor. “F*cking hell, Harry,” she muttered. “Now look at what you’ve made me do!”

He didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest; if anything, his grin became a little wider as he sidestepped the parchment on the floor and dropped a kiss on her nose. “Hello to you, too. Having fun?”

“How was detention?” she retorted, but she couldn’t help but smile too.

“He kept me even longer this time. There wasn’t even anything interesting about my dad or Sirius getting in trouble.”

Her voice softened as she said, “Here, sit down.” She moved her bag off the chair beside her, and he squeezed behind her chair to sit in the proffered seat.

“Are you done here?” Harry asked. “Only I thought we could go and have dinner or maybe go to the kitchens, if you want.”

“Well, I still have a couple of…” She trailed off, realising there was no way she could stand looking at another book, and at that moment, he kissed her, stopping her from saying anything more.

Aww, this is adorable! Thank you, mysterious person, you have totally made my month! I haven't read H/G fluff in a long, long time and I was just squeeing and giggling all along, so happy to be reading this! And I must compliment you on the lovely characterisation. Definitely what I prefer. Also, the conversation between Harry and Ginny was so sweet!

Title: Stop and StarePairing: Teddy/VictoireCandy Heart used: ShowerRating/warnings: 6th/7th years: Mild Profanity, Sexual SituationsAuthor's note: The lyrics are original ones, and this is borderline unacceptable for the boards. Somehow, though, I thought you wouldn’t mind.

“Did you find what you were looking for?
Did you reach for the clouds or did you hit the floor?
I reached out to touch you, but you weren’t there.
But now that you’re here, all I want to do
Is stop and stare.”

The dull sound of drunken clapping greeted the performers as the guitar faded into the expanse of the room, but Teddy Lupin wasn’t listening. The last vestiges of the ending lyrics reverberated in his throat and downward because he felt them so acutely. That was her song.

Dave, the drummer, hated that song, and every time they played it, he demanded that it be taken off the set list. Too damned depressing, he said, but Teddy didn’t care. He would sing that song as often as he could because he couldn’t do anything else. She wasn’t coming back to him, but she was never going to leave him, either.

Their set over, Teddy mechanically began removing his band’s equipment to the back room of the Leaky Cauldron. All he could think about was the neatly turned-down bed waiting for him upstairs, courtesy of the landlady, Mrs Longbottom. There was one more show the next night before the group was going to hit the Continent for a couple of months. Sleeping arrangements were far less hospitable abroad, Teddy had come to know by experience.

As was his ritual, the last thing he removed was the stool he sat on to play his acoustic guitar for ‘Stop and Stare’. With a flick, he Levitated it and started towards the back, but an achingly familiar voice tore his concentration to pieces and sent it crashing to the floor.

“I thought you’d have given up on that song by now.”

“Vic,” Teddy said without turning around. Not trusting his hand to be steady enough, he bent over and picked up the chair, clutching it like a life preserver. “I thought you went travelling.”

He could hear her sigh. “I did, but I don’t know anyone there, and I missed England a lot.”

Gripping the stool until his fingers turned red, Teddy ground his teeth together to keep himself from both snapping at her and sending the stool flying at the wall. Instead, he kept walking and slammed his cargo down before running up the stairs. Anything to get away from her. That may have been Victoire Weasley, but she certainly wasn’t the same girl who told him they were done because she didn’t want to be tied down before she saw the world.

But damn it all, he still wanted her.

Angry at himself, Teddy turned on the shower, making sure the water was ice cold. He left his clothes in a rumpled pile on the bathroom floor and stepped in. The water pelted his skin relentlessly, its chill sending icy needles that penetrated his flesh, and it felt glorious. Anything but the languid heat that thoughts of Victoire usually churned up. Leaning his forehead against the tile, he closed his eyes and relished the frigid water caressing his body into a less temperamental state.

Teddy almost didn’t notice when the water became warm, but he couldn’t possibly miss when a pair of hands slid around his torso. The soft, feminine curves pressed against his back were distinct, as well as ones he knew in his sleep. He wanted so badly to tell her to get the hell out, but the sensation of her fingers rubbing his chest was sending his resolve into a tailspin. “Wh-what are you doing here, Vic?”

Her lips pressed on the back of his neck. “I missed you,” she murmured as she traced a trail down his shoulder. His legs nearly buckled when he felt her breath on his ear. “I think you missed me, too. Your hair only turns that colour for me.”

Glancing up towards a shock of fringe, Teddy felt betrayed by the candyfloss pink hanging there. The first time his hair ever changed into that colour was the first time he’d ever made love to Victoire. That memory alone was nearly enough to break his resolve, but the sound of a sniffle against his back finished the job. Slowly, he turned around, her arms still encasing his body.

The soggy girl staring up at him hardly looked like Victoire at all. Her bottom lip trembled, and even through the shower spray, Teddy could see the tears on her face. “Victoire, I —”

“I’m sorry, Teddy, I’m so, so sorry!” Burying her face in his chest, he mumbled against his heart, “I thought it would make me happy, but I can’t be happy without you.”

Something inside of Teddy lurched so hard he lost his breath. “Oh, Vic . . .” With a groan, he dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers. They stumbled backwards against the shower wall with the force of their mutual desire, but one stray thought soaked into Teddy’s head through the water and the haze of need: he had found what he was looking for, and maybe she had, too.

Title: The LetterPairing: Ron/HermioneCandy Heart used: Green inkRating/warnings: 1st/2nd Years: Overt SadnessAuthor's note: It doesn't take much of a leap to figure out what is going on here, but just for clarity's sake, the first vignette is from Hugo's perspective, the second from Hermione's, the third is Hugo again, and the last is Ron. This was far clearer before cutting a huge chunk out of it for length, but I hope it's shippy enough. :/

Hugo Weasley looked at the parchment in front of him and nodded in approval. It wasn’t precise, but it was close enough. It could at least get him near enough to his just rewards to take what should’ve already been his. Every pen stroke, every last drop of green ink was in place, so all he had to do was redirect the owl he was expecting from his honourary Uncle Neville at Hogwarts and send it a couple floors lower.

This was almost crazy enough to work.

Hermione hummed as she cleared away the remnants of lunch while Ron did the dishes. It was a beautiful summer afternoon, and they’d agreed that it would be a great opportunity to take Rose and Hugo out for some quality time before Rose went off to Hogwarts. They would still have time with Hugo, but not both of them together.

She sighed at the thought of one of her children being left behind. While she had been an only child, Ron had watched five brothers go off to school before him and knew the feeling better than she could hope to. But Ron did still get to go, eventually.

Brushing that thought from her mind, she looked inside the Cool Charm fridge to see whether they needed to eat out or if cooking dinner were in order; takeout won that election. Just as she was turning to let Ron know they would have to stop somewhere, she nearly started when an owl began tapping on the glass. The crash of a plate shattering on the floor indicated that Ron was just as surprised.

“Bloody hell,” he grumbled as he opened the window. The bird flapped inside, deposited an envelope, turned up its beak and flew away in a flash of feathers.

Ron, glaring after the owl, snatched up the letter. However, when he looked at the addressee, Hermione saw his eyes bulge. He nearly tore open the letter to see what it said inside, but when he saw it, a vein on his forehead pulsed frighteningly.

“Ron?” Hermione asked, almost afraid to know. “What does it say?”

“If I find the bloody gits who did this, I’ll —” Tossing the letter on the kitchen table, he waved his hand at it. “See for yourself.”

Hesitantly, Hermione picked up the letter and gasped. Too numb to react, all she could do was read it aloud. “Dear Mr Weasley, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Looking up at Ron, her eyes threatening to spill tears onto that signature green ink, her voice quavered as she asked, “Who would do something like this?”

“It’s bloody cruel, and I’m going to find out who did it.” He crossed the room and his hands gently cupped her face. “I promise, love, I’ll find out who did it.” He wrapped his arms around her, and she sobbed into his chest. “I promise.”

Hugo heard raised voices from his perch at the top of the stairs and smiled. His parents would be so happy to see the letter that they would forget about that stupid Muggle amusement park and take him shopping at Diagon Alley instead. With that gleeful aim in mind, he ran down the stairs with a grin. “Mum! Dad! Did I get any mail?”

Not finding his parents in the foyer or the living room, Hugo barrelled into the kitchen, but when he got there, all he saw was his mum crying all over his dad like a big girl. Mums weren’t girls, so they weren’t allowed to cry! “Oi! What was the owl for?”

He saw his parents exchange a look before his dad knelt in front of him. “Nothing you have to worry about. Now, why don’t you run upstairs and play while your Mum and I talk for a bit?”

“No!” Hugo shouted as he lunged towards the familiar letter he saw on the table. “I know it’s for me, I know it is!”

Hermione tried to get to the letter first, but Hugo was faster. Soon, it was in his hands as he scrunched beneath the table. Both Ron and Hermione got on their hands and knees and held out their hands. “Hugo, please, give the letter to mummy. I promise that it’s nothing you have to worry about, but please, love. Give me the letter.”

“Son,” Ron said with a hitch in his voice, “you know that’s not true. Nobody wants you to go more than us, but this isn’t real. Please, give me the letter and come out.”

“Shut up!” Hugo cried. Ignoring his parents, he looked at the words he had so painfully copied for the past three days and read them aloud. “Dear Mr Weasley, we are pl-pleased to inform you that you h-have been acc-accepted to H-Hogwarts School of —”

Hugo never finished the sentence. Ron pulled the letter from Hugo’s hands and blasted it with his wand as Hermione pulled her son from underneath the table and hugged him tightly. “Oh, my baby,” she sobbing over and over again. “I’m so sorry. We love you so much. Oh, my baby boy.”

Hermione gasps in pain as the knife slices into her arm again. She feels fresh blood oozing down her forearm, streaming out with each pump of her heart.

"Where did you find the sword?" Bellatrix screeches, getting closer to Hermione.

"We found it," Hermione sobs, eyes shut, too scared to look at the dreadful cuts on her arm.

"Liar!" Bellatrix whispers. "Crucio!"

The pain is excruciating, and Hermione can hear herself screaming, but it feels like it's from a far off, distant place. It's almost as if it's only shadows. Every bone in her body feels as if they are snapping, and her arm is on fire from the fourteen little cuts that have been etched into her skin. The physical pain makes Hermione wish she were dead more than anything in the world. If she was dead, at least the pain would be over.

***

Ron wakes up suddenly in the night, and instantly knows why. Beside him, Hermione is thrashing in her sleep with her left had tightly curled around her right arm, hiding the small incisions that spell the word "Mudblood". The scars have faded now, but Ron knows as well as she does that some scars are more than skin deep.

"Hermione, Hermione, wake up," Ron says, gently smoothing her hair, and just talking at her. He learned the hard way, one week into their marriage, that shaking Hermione awake during these nightmares does more harm than good.

Her eyes open suddenly, and fear is written all over them. Within seconds, the fear changes to recognition. Ron wraps his arms around Hermione, who puts her head into his chest.

"She was torturing me," she whispers.

"I know," Ron says, smoothing her hair.

"She shouldn't be allowed to torture me anymore, she's gone, why does she have to haunt my dreams?" Hermione cries.

Ron has no answer, but he knows all he has to do is hold her. As long as he is with her, holding her in his arms, she'll be okay.

Title: FlyingPairing: Scorpius/HugoPrompt: Violin Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-5th years / noneA/N: I am really not happy with this, but I hope you enjoy it, Pooja!

The violin is the most difficult instrument to imitate. It is also one of the most difficult to play. But, more importantly than that, it is also the closest instrument to the human voice than any other.

Or that’s what Scorpius says. He prefers the aspects of the violin that are less tangible: Pythagoras’s harmonics, the way that you can change the tone of the sound if you tilt the bow left and right. I like the gritty feel of the rosin against the bow and then the bow against the string; I relish the callouses you get between your collarbone and your jawline.

It is a sensual instrument, the violin. The adjustment of bow to hand, the movement of the fingers. The violin was what brought Scorpius and I together. Its sensuality may eventually be what tears us apart.

Scorpius was better at it than I was. His fingers simply flew between the strings in a way that made you stare and wonder if he used some charm or spell to make the music sound the way it does: captivating. The truth is, he uses nothing but some extraordinary talent. Or perhaps it’s Scorpius himself that’s extraordinary.

I remember when I first realised I had thick callouses on my fingertips and Scorpius took them, and felt them, and smiled at me. That’s wonderful, Hugo, he told me. You’re wonderful.

I was not sure if it was the violin or something else that brought Scorpius towards me. I was not even sure how I felt towards Scorpius (and even now, I have no idea how we would define our relationship.) But I did know that however sensual the violin might have been, Scorpius was even more so, and I hated him for it.

We were walking along the grounds and I couldn’t stop staring at him. I was horribly attracted to him, and I was, in some awful state of mind, convinced that the reason he led me to the Quidditch field had everything to do with kissing me and nothing to do with the game itself.

Which is why, when we got to the field, I went against my better thoughts and brushed my lips lightly against his own. (I don’t know how I thought he would react. This was not a violin piece. I couldn’t just start over.)

He looked at me. I could not read the emotions that were in his eyes, and I was not sure that I wanted to.

Patrolling the corridors at night, especially during a chilly and cold winter night, wasn’t really his cup of tea.

The snow pounded against the windowpanes, while the wind howled and whistled as it blew through the trees outside. The only light in the corridor was the weak moonlight streaming in through the rattling windows. As a draft of chilly air blew in through a hole in the wall, Scorpius drew his cloak around him tighter.

He rather liked doing his prefect duties, but this was getting out of hand.

Scorpius checked his watch. It was eleven o’ clock at night. He was tired and cold, and desperately craving his warm blankets. Sighing, he sincerely hoped he’d find a student roaming around; he didn’t want his late night stroll to be in vain.

His wand held aloft, he kept on walking.

Ten minutes had passed before he heard anything.

It was soft and sweet -- a thin, melodious tune that almost touched his heart. Soft and sweet, it resonated along the corridors. A beautiful yet eerie noise that he could never get enough of, he thought, never realising that he’d come to a standstill. The disembodied sound rang in his ears, drawing out at intervals, but usually remaining a high-pitched but surprisingly soft sound.He stood there, mesmerised, his ears straining for more.

A few seconds later, he realized it was music.

The windows rattled again, sending a chill up his spine.

Shaking his head, he started to walk forwards, the sound still ringing in his ears. The ghosts in the school didn’t play music -- and if they did, it sounded like chainsaws. There was only one thing it could be.

His wand sent out a beacon of light, lighting up the dark corridor. It got louder and louder as he walked through the passage, and the sound became much clearer over the pounding snow. He knew there were unused classrooms in this floor, and as he passed across them, he pressed his ears to the doors.

Nearing the last door, the sound had amplified so much that his heart almost tore apart.

The door to the last room was ajar.

Taking a breath, he pushed the door open.

Inside the room, a young boy sat on the floor, his red hair unmistakeable even in the moonlight. It was a Weasley -- the youngest Weasley to be exact. He’d passed him several times in the corridors. His eyes were shut, his face scrunched up in concentration, playing the small wooden instrument that liberated the beautiful music he was hearing. With a gasp, Scorpius realised it was a violin.

Scorpius couldn’t stop him. He was hypnotised by the angelic form, and it reminded him of those beautiful marble statues in Muggle museums. His feet moved of their own accord as he silently shuffled in and sat on one of the tables, his eyes always trained on the crouched form in front of him. He started at every movement Weasley made with his hand, while his ears desperately drank every note the violin played.

Seconds passed. Then minutes. He didn’t know how long he was there. But he knew if he stayed, he would go mad at the sheer beauty.

As he tried to dismount, his table scraped against the floor.

The screeching was like a stab in the heart to the melody of the violin.

Weasley jumped, and for a second everything stopped.

He slowly looked around, trying to find the source of his interruption. When he noticed Scorpius standing against the wall, his form silhouetted by the moonlight streaming in through the door behind him, his eyes widened.

“Malfoy! What -- what are -- what do you -- ?”

Not knowing what to say, Scorpius replied, “That was beautiful.”

Weasley’s eyes narrowed, his body tensing. “Were you listening?”

“Yeah, I was,” Scorpius answered, moving towards him. He had never heard the youngest Weasley speak before, but his voice was smooth and deep, reminding Scorpius of éclairs. Somehow, the voice was as beautiful as the tune of the violin. “How did you learn to play that?”

Weasley shrugged, not letting his guard down. “Took me years. Am I in trouble?”

He should have said yes. He should have handed him detention. He should have taken him to Longbottom for wandering outside after curfew.

Okay. I should publicly squee at all of this because, oh my Helga, guys, you're all so amazing! I mean, I asked for four and I got six, which is the coolest thing ever, and oh, they're all such beautifully written drabbles too! I love all you SPEWly people! <3

And these snippets of loveliness put my own drabbles to shame. *hides face forever*

For the Love of Books: Soraya, you have written this so well! I loved the fluff -- it made me very happy. Harry and Ginny were very much in-character, and the moment captured here is just perfect. It's fits so well into the book -- a lovely missing moment. I always wanted to read these snippets in the books, and now you writing this for me is like a wish come true. Thank you so very much, you amazing girl, I really love you for writing this!

Stop and Stare: Jess, this is gorgeous. Everything, starting from the lyrics, to Teddy's emotions, and the smut (you're right, I didn't mind at all -- I loved it!) was gorgeous. I would love to read this as a one-shot, to be honest, and am really hoping that you will expand upon this.

I wish I was good enough with music to figure a tune for the lyrics myself, because that would be a lovely song. I felt terrible for Teddy, his pain was so palpable. I also loved the tiny descriptions -- like his hair turning pink at her sight. The smut was so well written, it made me flail . This is way too awesome for anything coherent. I'll just say I'm glad that Victoire came back to Teddy. Also, you're awesome. <333 Thank you for this loveliness!

The Letter: Again, Jess, this was beautiful. I felt so bad for poor Hugo, who will be so lonely once Rose leaves. I've always had a soft corner for him as such! But it was so innocent, and so sad, that he wrote the letter for himself. Ron and Hermione's reactions were so in-character too. I especially loved Ron. He was perfect. The vignettes were very well done, and I liked the whole feel to it. You're the master, Jess, you're truly awesomeness personified! Love youuu! <3

Mudblood: Maple, I loved the dark, yet hopeful feel to this! We never get to Ron or Hermione's viewpoints of this incident in the books, and this is definitely one of the things that's bound to haunt these two forever. I loved how Ron is there for Hermione -- he's always there, yes, even though he loses his way sometimes . But this drabble really made me smile, and sigh, and 'aww'. I loved the choice of present tense. It makes everything so much more real. Thank youu! <3

Flying: I won't lie, Lily, but I was hoping that someone would use the violin candy heart . What I didn't expect was for it to be used for Scugo. This drabble has such a surreal, poetic feel to it. I love how sensual it is, starting from the calluses, to Scorpius taking Hugo's fingers, and also the brushing of their lips. I somehow knew the end was going to be sad too, but I was hoping Scorpius would reciprocate. Their relationship couldn't be defined, yes, it was wonderful, and sad, and something that was very... transcendent. This drabble got shivers down my spine, and I'm really hoping you'll expand it. Thank you so much! I'm really ashamed to say now that my drabble for you is nothing in comparison.

Melody: Nadia, first of all, I love you for the sentiment that went into this. I know you've never written slash, and that this was way outside your comfort bubble. I also know that you're a strong ScoRose shipper, and that writing Scugo would take you quite a bit of resolve. So if I didn't love you from all my heart already, I love you even more!

The fic in itself had a certain elegance to it. Music is elegant, violins are elegant, so I think the prose style would also have to flow accordingly. Everything, starting from the winter evening, to Scorpius listening to the music had a silent, calm quality to it. It was sexy in a smooth way, rather than the hot, smutty way, and it was very, very enjoyable. I liked how the relationship developed through music; I loved how music played the most important role in this drabble. I like the subtlety of the last line, which suggests their union. And I would always love more, and shall prod you on AIM for the rest of my life now. I lubs you, sister. <33